Enough, For Now
by Singerdiva01
Summary: Missing scene from season 3, Dirty Hands. Admiral Adama's reaction when he's told that a malfunctioning Raptor has crashed into Colonial One and his interaction with President Roslin after he races to the ship. A/R. Minimal spoilers up to that point.
1. Chapter 1

**Battlestar Galactica, Admiral's Quarters: 16:00**

Admiral Adama took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He'd been on the first watch this morning and his break was being eaten up by yet another report about production delays on the refinery ship and their ramifications throughout the fleet.

As he replaced his glasses and looked back down at the problem in front of him, he felt a slight jolt interrupt the ship's normally smooth drive.

He waited. If this was a Cylon attack or another explosion on the flight deck or one of the other hundreds of emergencies that could befall a ship at war, he'd get a call to CIC. If someone had just fracked up while steering, he'd leave it to Tigh to rip the unfortunate officer a new one.

_Admiral Adama to CIC. Repeat, Admiral Adama is needed in the CIC._

With a barely perceptible sigh, the senior officer rose from his desk, fastened his top button, and headed for the hatch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Battlestar Galactica, CIC: 16:10**

"Admiral on deck!"

The enlisted men and women not engaged directly with the boards in front of them went to attention as the Admiral strode into the room. He glanced around, noticing an edge of panic that usually meant something royally fracked up had happened.

He approached Gaeta.

"Sit rep, Mr. Gaeta. What the hell is it this time?"

"Admiral, sir. Raptor 3's engines malfunctioned shortly after takeoff. Engine 2 blew before they could restart and the pilots had to punch out."

Admiral Adama fixed him with a look, wondering if losing another precious bird to the depths of space was the extent of the bad news. "Are they alright?"

Gaeta nodded. "They're fine, sir. They're being recovered right now but have maintained radio contact. But there's a bigger problem. The unmanned Raptor collided with one of the civilian ships."

Adama's eyes narrowed, realizing this was going to be a bigger mess than a lost Raptor and two shaken up pilots.

"Which ship, Mr. Gaeta?"

The younger man looked down, before quickly meeting the Admiral's eyes. "Colonial One, sir."

The Admiral's blood went cold and he tried to keep his voice level and his face impassive. One word, one name raced through his mind as he tried to focus on verbalizing any word but that one.

"How bad? Is the President alive?" He knew from years of practice that he sounded less afraid than he felt. The military leader of the fleet needed to know whether the political leader of the fleet was alive, injured or otherwise. Bill's need to know if Laura was dead had to remain a silent pang in his heart.

"Sir, we're still working to establish communication with the ship. We can see it on radar but we assume their comms were disabled in the blast. I've got a Viper on recon doing a pass to survey the damage."

"Put the Viper pilot on speaker. And for frak's sake, get Dr. Cottle to start assembling medical teams to launch as soon as we know where they can dock."

The speaker crackled to life. "Galactica, this is Starbuck. Closing in on Colonial One."

The Admiral reached for the box. "Starbuck, this is Galactica actual. What do you see?"

Kara groaned inwardly as she heard the Old Man's voice. She knew him well enough to know that there was only one passenger on that government ship he truly cared about and it had nothing to do with the political fallout of losing the President of the Twelve Colonies in a military frak up.

The ship came into clear view. Frak, she thought, before pressing the call button.

"Sir. There's a small fire at the aft bulkhead and there doesn't seem to be power but for the cockpit."

The aft bulkhead. Where the President's office and personal quarters were located. An image of Laura lying helplessly in her burning office flashed across Bill's mind. He imagined how terrified she must have been when a routine workday turned into what must have seemed like a direct attack. He fervently hoped she was intact enough to give him hell about that later.

Gaeta stared at the Admiral, waiting for him to ask about the docking situation in preparation for the medical team's arrival. When the Old Man made no move, he barked the order.

"Starbuck, I need a visual on whether or not the docking bay is still intact. We've got to get Cottle and his people over there as soon as possible."

The younger pilot focused on the dock. It was dark but seemed otherwise undamaged.

"The docking bay looks unharmed but those ships are gonna need some lights and some good fliers to put 'em down."

Without waiting for an additional order from the Admiral, Gaeta commanded the Raptor with the medical team holding in the tube to take off, warning the pilots of the power situation and advising them to approach the damaged ship with caution.

The Admiral looked at the junior officer, wondering if he'd been lost in his thoughts long enough to merit orders being given without his permission. Almost instantly, he decided he didn't care.

"I want a second Raptor readied for transport to Colonial One. Get any additional medics on board. Tell the Chief I'll be down in two minutes. Gaeta, you've got com."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked quickly to the door. It was only when he cleared the main corridor that he broke into a run.


	3. Chapter 3

**Battlestar Galactica, Flight Deck: 16:30**

"Admiral on deck!"

The elder officer responded automatically. "At ease."

He approached the Raptor being prepared for launch and addressed the Chief.

"Alright, let's go." His practiced facade was falling fast. All he wanted was to be on that ship, facing whatever their was to be faced. If she was hurt, he needed to be there. If she was dead...he stopped himself at the thought, realizing that he may have waited too long to tell her what that night on New Caprica had started inside of him.

His mind went back to several days earlier. "We have certain responsibilities," he said. She'd reacted with the same poise they'd both perfected, sad but certain that there simply wasn't time or space to be anything other than Admiral and President. He promised the Gods he didn't believe in that if they would only spare her one more time, he'd figure out how to make both time and space.

"Sir. Sir?"

Adama snapped back to the moment, focusing on the Chief's insistent words and gaze. He nodded at him expectantly.

"Sir, the first medical team is on site. Cottle reports a few injuries but no fatalities. It could have been a lot worse."

The Admiral almost sank down the side of the Raptor with relief. No fatalities. She was alive. Now he simply needed to know in what condition. He steeled his voice.

"Good to hear, Chief. Did they give a status report on President Roslin?"

The scruffy young man was taken aback at the intensity of the question. He could tell that the fact that he didn't know the answer didn't bode well for him.

"No, sir. I don't have details. They do report that they have the crew they need there. There's no need for a second medical team."

Like hell, Bill thought. He was getting to that ship if he had to commandeer a bird himself. He realized as the Chief looked at him strangely that the thought must be written on his face. He forced a tight smile.

"Alright. Good. I'm going to need to get over there myself, however. Damage control. The press that's always lurking over there is going to wonder why a military ship just tried to take out the center of government." The center of government, the center of the fleet, the center of my world, he added silently.

"Yes, sir. Raptor will be skids up in three minutes."


	4. Chapter 4

**Colonial One, Cargo Hold: 17:00**

Admiral Adama exited his raptor and banged through the flight deck door. He'd forgotten that the exit would put him directly in the cargo hold of the ship, where most of the passengers he never really remembered resided there played out their daily lives.

There was a din of panic in the small hold, but one he could tell was ebbing into adrenaline fueled excitement that would quickly morph into feverish fleet gossip.

He spotted Dr. Cottle, bandaging the head of a woman he recognized from the press corps. Upon seeing him, the doctor fought back a roll of the eyes and stood to address his old friend and commanding officer.

"I should hold you here and tell you about the extent of the injuries and preliminary damage reports about the ship."

Adama balked instinctively but realized that was exactly what duty required of both of them. He ran his hand through his hair and conceded to his chief medical officer.

"Yes, doctor. What's the situation?"

Cottle narrowed his eyes at him. He'd watched as the Admiral muttering soothing words into the President's ears as she lay dying. He'd seen the tears of relief fall down his weathered face as he reported that her cancer had miraculously disappeared and fought back his own tears on numerous occasions as the cold old military man helped nurse her back to full strength.

"12 injuries, no fatalities." He paused, waiting for a follow-up question. When he got only an expectant and worried stare in response, he continued.

"She's upstairs, Bill. She's fine. Nothing more serious than a light bang to the head and Gods know she has a hard head." As do you, he thought, barely hiding his annoyance. Anyone who'd ever been in a room alone with them could feel the connection the two leaders spent so much time denying.

Adama knew a dismissal when he heard one and nodded gratefully in the doctor's direction before sprinting toward the stairs leading to the president's office.


	5. Chapter 5

**Colonial One, President Roslin's Office: 17:05**

He spotted her as soon as he entered the room, kneeling next to Tory, hand protectively on her aide's forearm, and looking up in conversation with the member of her security detail who shadowed them both. She seemed unscathed. In fact, she seemed better than simply alive. Her eyes had that glint he'd come to love and fear that signaled she was in her presidential element, dealing with a crisis or about to make one.

As there were only aides and a smattering of press who'd come to gawk at the mess that had been made of the president's ship, no one announced his presence. He got two feet behind her before speaking.

"President Roslin. I'm glad to see you on your feet."

She turned, taking in the Admiral's worried look and planted stance. She immediately sensed it was taking all his willpower not to run to her and pull her into a hug. Her heart skipped several beats, thrilled that the stoic commanding officer had been concerned enough about her to race to her ship but cognizant of the reporters milling about, sure to be interested in their first exchange following the accident.

Putting on her Presidential mask, Roslin gave Tory another reassuring squeeze on the arm, instructed the guard to help the young woman to a chair, and stood calmly to face the Admiral.

Two quick strides eliminated the distance between them. She held out her hand to shake his, all the while trying to communicate with her eyes her joy that he was here and warn him to temper his own.

"Admiral Adama," she said, letting him use the handshake to pull her to a closer than necessary but still acceptable distance. "I hear that was one of your Raptors that just crashed into my ship. Are you attempting another military coup?"

The sparkle in her eyes and her light tone told him she was joking, for his benefit and for that of the two reporters who were casually leaning on a desk nearby, ears trained on the pair.

She continued, also for their benefit, before he could respond. "I'm sorry for the joke. Nervous energy. Are your pilots alright?"

"Yes, Madam President. Thank you for asking. Early reports suggest a problem with the tylium. I'm sorry to say that you and your people are going to have to move your operations elsewhere for the time being, however. It could take awhile to get that bulkhead repaired."

He wondered what would happen if he told her, right here in front of the press, that his advice was to move her office and personal quarters to Galactica. It was a perfectly reasonable and acceptable request and - she cut off his train of thought with her words.

"I understand. I already have people moving my files up to the front bulkhead."

He suppressed a sigh. She'd already figured out how to position herself where she always did, just out of his reach. He let a bit of his disappointment slide when he said roughly, "forward bulkhead."

She looked at him, confused.

"It's called the forward bulkhead. How can I make myself useful?"

She heard his hurt and felt a familiar pang of guilt for locking him out via her professional role. She knew as soon as she'd picked herself up off the deck that he would be hearing which ship the Raptor had rammed into and she'd leapt to the call box to call the CIC and confirm that she was alive. She'd told herself that the military leaders needed to know that she was still in command but her real annoyance at finding the communications down was that Bill would be frightened unnecessarily. She wondered how many more ways she could find to hurt this man, her only true friend in the world, before he simply stopped trying. She shook her head to clear the thought.

"Grab that pile right there and escort me to the _forward _bulkhead?"

He nodded, silently scooping up the stack of documents. She did the same and he motioned for her to exit the room in front of him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Colonial One, Corridors: 17:20**

Once the pair were safely out of earshot and alone in the dim hall, the president stopped and plopped her pile of papers on a nearby window sill. She turned toward him.

"Now you can hug me," she whispered.

His brain wanted to turn away from her, show her that the ease with which she flipped the switch between President Roslin and Laura pained him, but his heart had other ideas. He placed his folders next to the others and pulled her close.

"I'm glad you're alive," he said gruffly into her hair. He held that position silently for a few moments before pulling back a few inches. He ran both hands through her hair, looking directly into her eyes.

"Cottle said you hit your head. Are you sure you're alright?" His look of concern made her smile.

"I'm fine, Bill. Luckily, I was sitting down when it happened. I just got knocked out of my chair." She tried to lighten the moment with a joke. "You've done worse with your driving skills on that damn ship of yours."

Her playful barb had the opposite of its intended effect. He felt his earlier panic welling up and his words came out in a rush. "When they told me it was your ship, I imagined the worst. I saw you lying there bleeding with no one to help you and I couldn't bear the thought of losing you again. I got here as fast as I could and -"

She cut him off again with that musical laugh that he loved so much. "I know, Bill. Word travels fast in this fleet. One of your Raptor pilots told me you'd been spotted running full speed to the flight deck."

He tilted his head, trying to figure out if she was making fun of his concern. She cut that thought off as easily as she had his words by pulling him close to her once again. This time, it was her whispering into his hair.

"I knew you would come for me. You always have. And I'm always glad."

She started as footsteps alerted them that their stolen moment alone was coming to an end. She pulled back to an acceptable distance and straightened her jacket as two of her aides turned the corner, carrying more folders to the new presidential offices.

She picked up her pile from the ledge and motioned for the Admiral to do the same. When he did, she turned to continue their walk forward. As the aide came up behind them, she spoke loudly for their benefit.

"So, Admiral, what the hell happened back there? Did the doctor give you a report on the passengers below deck?"

As they entered her new office, Bill realized that Laura was gone and they were back where they always were, President and Admiral, juggling the fate of humanity together. For now, he thought wearily, that had to be enough.

"You got off lucky. A dozen injuries, no fatalities."

"Thank you. You should have seen Tory's shoulder. I had to help Cottle put it back into alignment. Ugh." She shuddered with the memory, putting the papers down on her new desk. She continued as if their conversation in the corridor had never occurred. She was so convincing he wondered if he'd imagined her pulling him into a hug, enveloping him in the sweet scent of her hair.

"You know, I am so busy I hardly ever make it down to this end of the ship. And now I'm going to be living here for Gods know how long until they repair the bulkheads."

He turned his back to her, deciding it would be better to make the offer and judge her response rather than continue to wonder whether the gentle woman he'd held just a few minutes ago was truly a figment of his imagination.

"If the quarters become cramped, you're always welcome in one of my beds." He turned back to see her reaction.

She fixed him with a meaningful look over her glasses, breaking into a full, genuine smile after a few moments.

There she was. Laura, cautious but playful. Again, he realized he could take it or leave it. This time, it was him who realized for formality's sake that, in light of her mischievous smile, he should clarify his words for listening ears and curious eyes.

"In a manner of speaking."

She approached him, the smile lingering on her lips. She looked as if she could kiss him and, for a moment, he allowed himself to hope, no matter how unlikely that particular gesture would be.

But President Roslin was back, softer than before but continuing with the business of the fleet.

"Do you have any better idea what happened to your Raptor?"

He acquiesced, turning his mind to the problems at hand.


End file.
